


sing the body (eclectic)

by obscurities



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Blood Play, Bodily Fluids, Bodily Functions, Body Image, Body Worship, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Depression, Eating Disorders, Explicit mentions of bodily functions, M/M, Medical Jargon, Scat, Suicidal Ideation, Watersports, medical AU, mentions of vomiting, pain play, some peeping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscurities/pseuds/obscurities
Summary: jongin has tried every treatment he could think of to heal (but he hasn't tried oh sehun)





	1. your body is a hushed murmur i am trying so desperately to hear.

**Author's Note:**

> ♢ please read warnings before continuing ♢
> 
> wow okay so this is really happening. to be completely honest, this first started off as me fucking around with drabbles in my spare time, not even taking them seriously. but then 500w turned into 5k really quickly and i formed a whole plot around it. at this time, i was struggling a lot with my chronic illness and so i channeled that pain into this fic. this is still very much a fictional plot but the feelings behind it are genuine.
> 
> this fic is not for the squeamish or faint of heart. this will include graphic depictions of bodily functions and aspects of having a chronic illness. some medical procedures/jargon will be included but at a beginner's level. if graphic/explicit depictions of bodily functions is not what you want to read, then back away from this fic now because it will include them from start to finish.

Falling ill had robbed Jongin of many things: happiness, independence, motivation; and most notably at this moment, his self confidence.  
  
He began to hate many of the things his body did, always being in between hospital visits, never feeling clean even though the sterile rooms of the ward tried to make him feel that way. He was tired of always giving samples of himself, sometimes handing off his waste to doctors he had only just met. He felt like a lab rat being prodded at and the sunken faces and pursed lips as the doctors looked at his labs made his heart drop.  
  
He couldn't look in the mirror anymore, too disgusted with what he would be faced with, too horrified to look at his flesh and have the grave realization that it was dying, deteriorating, right before his very eyes. At least, that's what he believed to be happening because no other answers or explanations could be given.

It was the guessing he hated the most, this feeling of always being suspended in air, just waiting for it all to crash down. No one knew exactly what was wrong with him, but it was written clearly all over his shallow, listless face. It was written in the way he couldn’t hold any food down some days, and others couldn't get enough, his stomach screaming at him to consume more. It was written in the way he needed to strain in the bathroom for ages, clutching his waist and crying, red faced. Other days, he was hunkered over the toilet lid, spewing up all he mustered to eat that day from his mouth, all to be flushed away.  
  
He couldn't really sleep anymore, too awake with a pounding headache and the glaring fact that his days were probably numbered and therefore he should make use of every second. He would cry then, bawl into his pillow because that's all he had the energy to do; because it was painful to feel every second slip by and he was left debilitated, unable to make anything of them. He began to wonder if there was even any point in trying.

As he strained over another cup, he suddenly stopped, thinking aloud “why am i doing this?” He had already given in countless samples, had to deal with the indignity of strangers prodding at his waste, and sometimes the hole it came out of. And for what? Another “we can't confirm what this is” or “but mind this, sir, this is just a prognosis. I am recommending this for a second opinion.” He didn’t have to even look to check if he was bleeding, because the answer was clear enough with the sharp pains pulsing through his core. He was pretty sure he had more hemorrhoids than a mother of triplets at this point and he was not proud of this fact, no matter how lightly he put it. He felt as twisted and knotted up as the blood vessels that now dully ached in his backside. He tossed the sample cup aside and rested his head in his arms, still seated on the toilet, a familiar fixture for him. He rubbed his hands down his face in pity and sighed, broken and deep.

_No_ , he told himself. _I will not cry on the toilet. Not again._

He jolted when there came a knock on the door: his roommate, for sure.

“Um, Baekhyun just wanted to tell you he’s off to work now,” Jongin groaned inwardly. That was his roommate’s scrappy boyfriend talking and not the boy he had grown up to manhood with. “Also, he said good luck at your appointment.”

“Thank you,” came Jongin’s voice and it came off louder with the tightness of their tiny bath. He shook his head at it.

“You’re welcome, man. Um, also, I wish you luck too,” and Jongin repeated his gratitude before he heard the man’s gangly footsteps walk away.  
  
Jongin knew this would be another morning spent in the room that had quickly become his second home. Chanyeol, his roommate’s unemployed boyfriend, had stayed the night, which meant that he would be staying the morning too, on the couch and chowing down on all their food. Jongin didn't mind really; this was a low eating period for him, which he had to admit was a bit self-inflicted, but one could not always be the picture of health, especially not him.

No, he was more red-faced with embarrassment than rumbling with hunger, because he could feel the other itching to make jokes at him. He had done it before, immaturely making poop jokes at the dinner table before Baekhyun whacked him over the head with a spatula. The damage was done though, he knew what the man thought of his condition, and it didn't surprise him in the least, for he felt the same way. He couldn't blame the man for making light of a very unfortunate situation. However, this didn't mean he was immune to the sinking embarrassment of it, when he was quite literally the butt of the joke.

Jongin pulled out his phone to take a photo of the empty sample cup and was greeted with his sorry face in the front facing camera. He quickly switched it, but not before a pang of self-hatred rode through him. Strangely, this made the pain in his lower region start to swell and sting as well, so he took a picture of that on top of his absent sample.  
  
Documenting his condition had become the only thing he had the energy for, because hatred could spark one hell of a wildfire. And boy, did he hate his condition with a passion. Morbidly, he thought that once he had passed, then maybe these records may aid some other sorry soul faced with the same ailments as him. Maybe he could go down in the medical books as some diagnosis pioneer. But, oh, there was that self hatred again, for he cringed at the prospect of being known forever as “that weird poop guy." It was bad enough hearing himself referred to as that always and just at that very second by Chanyeol, as he heard the man speak it into the receiver of his phone to one of his buds.  
  
Jongin didn't have much time for friends other than Baekhyun and they quickly petered off at the first sign of his condition getting worse. He couldn't blame them, he himself didn't want to deal with this plague, so he wasn't expecting acquaintances to stick around when they weren't obligated to. No, Baekhyun had always been the only friend he needed and he held him just as close as the other did for him. He knew if it weren't for Baekhyun, that he would no doubt be shacked up in some rehab center somewhere, to be prodded at every hour on the hour rather than just from 9-5.

It was barely eight o’clock on a Wednesday and Jongin had already managed to feel sorry for himself three times over. He wished he could just flush himself down the toilet rather than just the few drops of blood that slipped out from his straining. He took to his phone, scrolling through the news and funny stories and sending a quick text to Baekhyun poking fun at his boyfriend’s loud chewing. He then ran a nice, warm bath, in which he’d soak in till it ran cold and he needed to run a fresh batch of water. This was often times the best sleep he would get, with the water shallow enough that he wouldn't drown in it.

A couple years ago, he rejoiced at that idea, but now it only left him bitter, for he could never go through with it. Often times he would find himself foolish for even pondering this end, but then this pang in his heart would answer back, “why wouldn’t this cross your mind when your body is spelling death right back at you?"  
  
He began the breathing exercises at the remembrance and was lulled into an uneventful sleep.

He awoke what he found out to be an hour later when a pounding came to the door and Chanyeol asking gruffly behind it, “Hey man, mind if I piss real quick so I don't have to use this Snapple bottle?”  
  
Jongin shivered. The water had run cold and it was rattling through his bones, but he was too groggy with sleep and fatigue to get up.  
  
“Look, we’re both guys here, okay, I’ll be quick. and I doubt you’d want an accidental sip of me when you think it’s just a harmless bottle of homemade lemonade.”  
  
There it was, another shiver. His eyes were open and alert. Once he heard a sigh from the other side of the door, he tugged roughly on the shower curtain to keep his decency, so used to doing this in shared hospital rooms, and called the man inside.

Chanyeol quickly jogged to the toilet and lifted the seat with a clank. Jongin jumped at it, water rippling around him. He peeked just in time to see the other man drop trousers and release a steady stream into the bowl. For some reason, Jongin couldn't look away, he was mesmerized. By the sight, the feeling, the scent: he was so used to his own foul smelling waste from multiple infections and found the undoubtedly urine smell filling the room… refreshing.  
  
The color was that of straw, just a slight yellow tinge to the mostly clear substance that was now being released from his body. His cock was not the focal point by far, only a tool in which the main attraction cascaded from. He must have drank a lot of tea because it felt like an eternity before the stream petered off and only a few minuscule drops were pushed out. Jongin was silently thankful for flipping back the curtain in time for Chanyeol to flush and be on his way, noting that he left the toilet seat up and didn't wash his hands. Jongin could care less though, was more concerned with the fire in his gut that he hadn’t felt in years, hadn't felt since his health had turned south.

_What.. what could this be?_ he wondered. He knew he wasn’t attracted to Chanyeol in the least bit, found him too goofy and gangly and frankly, too much of an ass to win his heart or hard-on. But his piss: there was something there, Jongin came to admit. He cursed himself when he spotted the empty cup again, the ridiculous idea of wanting Chanyeol to be the one to fill it up crossing his mind unexpectedly. Of course, this was supposed to be a fecal sample, not urinalysis, and his druggie-type plan of testing out someone else’s piss had been flushed quicker than the could-be sample down the drain.

He stared at the toilet for what felt like an hour more, glaring at the pristine white bowl he has soiled with his own waste far too many times. He felt this surge through his gut and for once, it wasn’t pain or indigestion. It was something that had been foreign to him for quite a while now: it was motivation.

He practically jumped from the tub, his joints cracking and back giving in. He caught himself on the edge of the tub and stumbled out, toweling off and redressing. He did so with a purpose, for he had an uncanny idea. Jongin had no clue why he was doing this, but then again this was starting out to be a day full of surprises. He shuffled into the room with three-day-old pajamas and plopped himself on the couch next to Chanyeol.  
  
“How’s it going there, chief?” Jongin sneered a little at the nickname. It was always something with that guy: bub, chief, sport. Still all better than a poop joke though, so Jongin let him slide.

“It’s alright,” Jongin lied. He was good at saying the stock answer by now.

They drifted into silence after Yeol’s affirmative hum until Jongin cleared his throat and turned to the other, determination written all over his tired face.

“So I’ve heard you are one who takes well to dares and pranks,” Jongin began with his plan.  
  
“If by ‘takes well’ you mean ‘kicks ass’, then yes, I take it very well,” the man replied annoyingly. Jongin scrunched up his nose before he continued.  
  
“Well, in that case, wanna make my appointment for today a helluva lot more interesting?”


	2. like a whirlwind, my heart can't settle down (when my name touched your lips).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♢ please read warnings before continuing ♢
> 
> so it has been a long while since i touched this fic. i started it over a year ago (oh boy, it was that long ago) and while i had a lot written for it, i was far too distracted to edit or post more of it. i was also slightly worried about the reception it would have but after reading the wonderful comments i recieved, it sparked my interest to keep this going and continue posting what i have.
> 
> since i have written this, my chronic illness has shifted just as my life has. through stricter dietary restrictions, i have found a reprieve from the worst symptoms it had to bear, though i still have not sought proper care for them (as i should >.< it's daunting for me to go to the doctor but with renewed hope and support, i have been going more frequently). the worst of what plagued me feels to have resolved but i still endure quite a lot. i have become more nauseous over time and with my career vastly changing to include business trips and my first ever plane rides, nausea has become quite a staple, though luckily i have meds for this specific problem and i'm sure to keep a close eye on my diet, water intake, and triggers. understanding my triggers has gone exceedingly well for me in avoiding flare ups and reducing the pain of symptoms and i urge everyone to begin understanding and examining theirs. i know how painful it can be to go through a chronic (and/or unexplained) illness and i extend to you all of my support, care, and hope.
> 
> i have also recieved several diagnoses that have helped tremendously in me understanding my own physical and mental health within the year+ that i had first posted this story. i have been diagnosed with Tourette's syndrome, which explains my frequent tics and habits. i still require further testing in this area but i am gathering the strength and courage to do so. i have also recieved what i believe to be a proper and fitting mental diagnosis and now have psychiatric meds that i feel help me tremendously: i no longer feel bedridden and incapable, but moreso hopeful and developing better habits and skills and taking more opportunities that i would previously have passed up due to inattention, disinterest, and physical limitations.
> 
> my career has radically shifted from the time i wrote this as well. i went from a three hour a day part-time job, to a forty+ hour a week, full time medical job (which posed to be a trigger as well, but was an incredibly rewarding and successful experience), to a salary-based, technical career, including business trips, conventions, and primarily work from home (which, also a trigger, but with my new meds and psychiatrist, i am building my strength back up to get moving and go out into the world after confining myself to my bed for too long). my new career, and basically my new life, has taken up much of my attention as i work towards being a person again after spending so long isolated from the world and in great phsyical and emotional pain. life is still stressful and hard and downright awful at times, but i am finding much more to be happy and hopeful about, which is a vast improvement to what i was going through around the time that i first posted this.
> 
> thank you for supporting this story, and me, and i am excited to keep it going and share what i have poured my heart into. i sincerely hope that everyone enjoys what i have put together. as stated, the content will progress to obscure kinks and body exploration that is not for the faint of heart.
> 
> enjoy!

This is how Jongin found himself carrying a sterile baggie filled with some douchebag’s waste as he rode to the doctor’s office for the millionth time. 

The other man had taken well to the idea of the “prank” though he needed to steer the manchild away from his even wilder idea of putting cat shit in the cup instead. Such an outlandish idea wouldn’t have suited his goal at all: the prank was merely a front for his own curiosities. 

Jongin was simply inquisitive in nature, for many reasons, some of which even he could not explain. Most of all, he was curious about what results the sample would yield and what expression his elderly doctor will have to find that the sample is that of a healthy young male’s. Self-deprecatingly, Jongin wanted to know what made him so different from others in this respect. But also why this made him _feel_ different from others as well. 

He would explain it away as a fluke, because he was sure the old man would faint if he came to know the truth is that Jongin was oddly attracted to the waste of others. He wanted to faint himself once he realized how downright _weird_ that seemed.

The recurring hospital settings that greeted him once he stepped off the bus and neared his doctor’s office had made any squeamishness inside of him quickly disappear. Through his visits, he had seen it all and had many a story to tell in the records he was keeping. Most people gagged at just the mere mention of the workings of a sick body whereas Jongin was not even phased by witnessing it firsthand. He was sure he could take up a job as an ass-wiper if he could stand up long enough and had the a-ok that he wasn't contagious, which made another pang of hatred course within him.

Baekhyun never voiced this, but the man kept a close eye on his health as well just to make sure he wasn't catching what Jongin had already caught, or inherited. The mystery wasn't daunting to only him; that fear had spread to all he held close as well. The fear of the unknown could have someone nearly stricken with the same pain he was going through and any cold or stomach upsets that happened to those near him felt like they were entirely his fault.

This is why he trudged along with a clinical mask astride his face wherever he would go, though he still went out only rarely. He would don gloves as well if the task set before him required it and so that is what he did, clutching his sample bag with latex fingers.

He was a man set on a mission, spending all of his strength and waking hours searching for an answer, or crying when he had hit a dead end once again. Any reprieve in illness came with a double edge, a lingering and tickling fear that it would appear once again, and this time stronger than ever. In his pessimism, it always did, rearing its ugly head like a punch to the gut or a shot of dry whiskey burning down his esophagus. He didn’t know which end he preferred, or rather, he could tolerate more.

With a shiver and a cold sweat, he wondered when life had become about mere tolerance than exuberance.

Still in his reverie and before he could enter the building and drop off the sample with the nurse he was on first name basis with, Jongin had stumbled head on into a taller, broad man. The sunglasses he had on were knocked off, a prescription lens popping out. He was having another episode of light-sensitive migraines, a symptom most of his doctors described as psychosomatic, but which had real pain, making his retinas feel like they were on fire and seconds from bursting out of their sockets. Jongin let out a surprised shout in the back of his throat, a sharp exhale of breath that made him cringe as it traveled unceremoniously down his torso. All felt still and quiet, the sound of cars bustling by, idle conversation, and birds chirping loudly at this hour in the morning becoming distant, reminding Jongin of life spent within the four lonely walls of his bedroom.

Thinking in the now was not his strong suit and had not been for quite some time. Instead, he mulled over mistakes and signs from the past, missing the pieces of him that schlepped off like dead weight as the years went by and the illness chipped away at him. Or, begrudgingly to the future, where all of his hope went to start an unreachable journey and peter off into the horizon never to return. Living in the now was not a luxury he could indulge now, it was a painful reality that he simultaneously felt the full burden of while being ever so distant from anything else that life had to offer, but was withdrawing from him. 

Living in the now meant apologizing to strangely attractive men he had never seen before upon bumping into them, while instead all Jongin could do was stare.

The man only chuckled lightly as Jongin came to and hurriedly picked up his lens with flushed cheeks. It was not a mocking sound, much to his surprise. Instead, it was rather hearty and warm, coming from his chest that stood tall and broad before him, with a slight smile making the sound rest just within that perfectly chiseled jaw of his.

_Eye for detail_ , Jongin explained to himself. He has a keen eye for detail, even though his surroundings were a tad hazy.

“It’s okay there, teddy bear, no harm done,” the unfamiliar man said in a smooth, deep voice. Jongin stopped his scurrying and looked up at the man at the mention of the nickname. Usually he was “Mr. Kim”, “patient”, “sample”; not something as cute and whimsical as a child’s plush toy. Gosh, he hadn’t been called some variation of the sort since high school, when he was still in possession of a full, baby face and a smile. Now, that only belonged to old pictures. 

Popping the lens back into place, Jongin settled the prescription sunglasses firmly on the bridge of his nose, his eyes having reprieve from squinting in the heavy morning sun. He could finally get a good look at this man who stood firmly in front of him, making no move to scurry off. It struck Jongin as especially odd, so used to the impersonal and selfish nature of public transportation, remembering his days in the city when his tall frame would bump into many speed-walking down the sidewalk and grant him an earful of curses. And now, so used to being kept at an arm’s reach, trying to remember at 2am when he couldn’t sleep what a hug feels like.

The fact this man was personable with him without wearing a hazmat was strange, indeed.

This man was definitely not a doctor, for Jongin had seen them all within a 100-mile radius. Though, his firm stature and serious looking face, chiseled as it was, could have hinted towards him being one. Perhaps on TV rather than downtown. Jongin didn't realize he was staring, so used to being an invisible fly on the wall, until the man was handing him a stray pen and a… bag.

_Oh god, no._

“I believe these are yours,” he said, leading the conversation. 

Jongin looked down to the bagged lunch he was currently holding in his sweaty fist and extended it to the man as if it were burning him. The man took it with another light, airy laugh and a shake of his head. There it was again: a warmth, a friendliness that was refreshing and confusing. Jongin’s brows furrowed from behind his glasses, his chestnut eyes searching the man’s expression as if he could unearth his deepest secrets by doing so.

Or, even a name.

“Thank you, teddy. Have a nice day.”

Jongin watched as he walked away, struck speechless. He was so wrapped in the way this man’s lanky yet toned body carried him gracefully, step by sure step, down the walkway of the medical center and around the lawn. There was a pep in his step, a somewhat rhythmic quality to how he put one foot in front of the other and it made Jongin nostalgic for something he couldn’t quite place. It made him feel all kinds of strange things that could not be chalked up to a symptom.

“Wait!” He called, startled by his own voice raising. 

The man paused, looking back smoothly with that same smile on his face. If anything, it only grew.

“What’s the news, baby blues?” He called back. Jongin paused, absolutely dumbfounded until he realized what exactly he had on: a light blue tee and pale-washed denim pants. Why was this man more observant of his outward being than even he was?

“What’s your name?” He was more interested in answers than niceties.

“Sehun,” he replied back with a kind wave. “Oh Sehun. And you appear to be Jongin, or someone here on Jongin’s behalf.”

Before he could question this of him, the man, Sehun, hastily added with a finger tapping the side of his head, “The name on your lunch tote says all, I’m not actually psychic.”

Jongin stood still, so wrapped up in his racing thoughts that he couldn’t fully acknowledge how his gut churned its rusty, stuttering wheel and threatened to betray him, and soon. The sun beat down on his thin, light-deprived skin and tickled to a slight burn but he couldn’t make a move for shade. His temple buzzed with an impending migraine but the buzz of his thoughts spoke louder, taking him away from the pain of his body but still not letting him drift completely from it. His stomach was raving on but a tickle still enveloped it, a fluttering feeling as his heart pounded on, no doubt sure to put a worrying look on his nurse as his vitals were recorded. But he couldn’t find himself quite caring all that much when more pressing matters made his head spin with questions, his fingers itching to get a hold of his phone and record it all.

“Well, teddy bear Kim, have a lovely day. Looks like it will be a sunny one.” 

And then off the man went, picking up his musical stride and lightly humming an upbeat tune. Jongin listened to it, feeling like he’s heard this song before but couldn’t quite place it, not having focused on anything that wasn’t a latin medical term in a long while. His mind was so entrenched with thoughts of the weird encounter that just transpired that he handed the sample bag to his doctor with tentative hands, staring far off at the wall that held diagrams of the human body and wondering where heartache, longing, and hope could be among the stomach, kidneys, and lower intestine.

It was somewhere in there, this he knew even if he couldn’t feel it and was seized only with painful symptoms. 

_A weird tickle in my stomach and a weight on my mind_ , his entry into his phone read for that day. He stared at it intensely on the ride home before adding, _probably not a migraine._

He folded his glasses firmly in the hem of his shirt as he walked up to his apartment and pressed the button for the elevator.

It was sunny out all day.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you all enjoyed the first chapter! i will update as often as i am able to~


End file.
